


concerning the fig tree

by robinsegg



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Multi, Murder Mystery, Other, Pre-Canon, Secret Identity, and pok and sklonda and kalina seemed to have a very interesting relationship!, listen i just think that Bastion City in the fantasy 90s mustve been a trip, shitty apartments in cities, the rarest of all rarepairs: a main character's parents and a big bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinsegg/pseuds/robinsegg
Summary: Bastion City was Sklonda Gukgak’s home, and she loved it in all its grime and dirt and abject terribleness, as was the curse of cities. This was where she’d grown up, and it was probably where she’d die, and she liked it that way. Sklonda was not a wanderer-- she was rooted and firm, and if she didn’t like where she was, she’d fix it before getting uprooted. Sklonda liked her coffee black and she liked to drink it in the mornings. She was twenty-seven, in her prime, and terribly bored.And also, Pok.
Relationships: Kalina/Pok Gukgak/Sklonda Gukgak, Pok Gukgak/Sklonda Gukgak
Comments: 13
Kudos: 41





	concerning the fig tree

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm enchanted with the idea of Pok and Sklonda and Kalina all having hung out and caused chaos in what I assume was the 90s in Bastion City, which is like totally Fantasy Boston. And like... Pok did not confirm with enough firmness that he didn't fuck Kalina, so I'm assuming he did and I'm also assuming that him and Kalina and Sklonda were in a fun throuple for a while. I don't know why I love this idea so much but I do and so here's three thousands words of Riz's parents, I guess. 
> 
> Also I know I made Sklonda's last name Gukgak. I was joking with friends about how I couldn't figure out a fun goblin last name and we were all like haha Pok took her last name instead so actually that's what happens in this au. Goblins are feminists.

Pok considered, not for the first time, his position in life, in society, and in the world as he faced almost certain doom. A goblin from the Mountains of Chaos, sneaking along dark ruins of long-settled travesties, arrogant and yet dependent on his silence. He was a damned good agent, if young and new, but there was always the nagging knowledge that even if it wasn’t the main reason, he’d been chosen for his expendability. One dead goblin with a gun is nothing, in the span of all time and all the dead goblins with guns. Which is why, of course, he didn’t die. Pok was nothing if not a man who exceeded expectations, in all categories-- work ethic, success, looks, sexual prowess, etc. It was one of his strong suits.

This moment, though, was certainly testing his streak of ‘coming back home alive.’ Pok slunk around ruins larger than most everything he’d seen, hiding in the shadowed corners of slabs of toppled rocks and marble. He was in land scorched by destruction, as he often was, when not among the gritty civilization of Bastion City. Bruised and bleeding, limping when he should’ve been running and hiding in places that wouldn’t protect him for shit. He considered a lot of things in that moment. His father. His mother. His siblings. The many hookups he had, and the few relationships he had. The girl he didn’t talk to at the bar and the guy he locked eyes with at a party, but never chased.

Maybe death was an inevitability, yeah. Maybe he couldn’t fight the Grim Reaper whenever he came around. If maybes were fate then Pok would’ve been dead already. If maybes were fate then Pok would’ve killed a god by then. So he kept going.

The sounds of crashing footsteps and the slow tread of a hunter echoed strangely in this place. Fallinell was a land of ancient immortality, and the land Pok burrowed into was just a testament to what even elves could not ignore: war. Evil. Destruction. Agelessness didn’t stop a building from dropping. It didn’t stop a bomb.

Pok snuck into the bones of an old fortress, gun in one hand and another pressing into the cut at his side. Cold wind whistled through the building as Pok slunk around hallways, gun at the ready. The place had few places to hide, so he stuck to walls and shadows best he could. It wasn’t a forgiving building. He winced at the cut as he rounded the corner, coming to a quick stop at the sight of a ranger, tall and steady. Mud stained his boots and there was a large rip in his shirt, but the eyes scanning the horizon were hard and focused. Pok knew he didn’t have a second chance if he fucked it up. Footsteps were coming from somewhere, and he had no clue what door led to salvation and what door led to certain doom. Contemplation was inaction, and so he raised his gun up.

And then he tripped. Or something.

Pok rarely tripped, and rarely missed. Pulled the trigger just as his hand slipped, as the ranger raised up his bow, as the bullet flew past the man. Pok scrambled back, leaving one parting shot as he snuck back around the corner. “Fuck,” He hissed, wound burning and danger levels rising quickly.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he continued to say, albeit quietly. Thudding followed behind him as he turned to face three others at the front of the hallway, quickly advancing. He wasn’t trigger-happy, but he wasn’t all that happy about his prospects either. Walking backwards, he let out as many shots as he could, hoping at least some would hit their mark even in the haze of panic and pain.

Agent Pok was a dead man and everyone knew it. Some four foot tall goblin with a wound couldn’t fight off four people. But he was a fighter, and he’d go down how he came up: swinging. Bravado was easy when you couldn’t see what was behind you, though, and as Pok thudded against the cool stone of a wall, it all drained of him again. He scrambled for a knob without turning around. They advanced, and Pok thought of the likelihood of a body being found, of it being returned to his family. He thought of grief and mourning, and the hard eyes of a man who saw others as obstacles. And then he found a knob.

The footsteps and sounds of guns ricocheting off stone faded away as Pok slammed the door behind him. The room was empty of any people. It was dusty, dark, cobwebbed and without much light except for a thin window high up above Pok. He scrambled for a hiding place, jostling potions and dusty ingredients on a counter. They looked like they’d been there for years, petrified in a sealed room. He stood perfectly still, ears twitching as he strained to listen for speaking. It’d been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone, since anyone spoke to him. He was there for however long as he strained for noise and heard nothing. They’d had to have seen him go in, of course, and Pok should’ve heard them outside. But-- nothing.

Pok stretched, padding silently over to the counter. There were some clear healing potions there, which hadn’t gone bad, unlike some of the other ingredients on there. Cabinets were near empty, filled with cobwebs and rotten rations. He simply chugged a potion then, hazy with blood loss and mostly confident that it was fine, before shoving another potion down a pocket. He felt most of his wounds clear up and pulled out his gun, sneaking out guns ablazing once more. 

A pair of yellow eyes blinked open just as the door shut, a smile widening under the thin, pathetic light of the grimy window.

*  
Bastion City was Sklonda Gukgak’s home, and she loved it in all its grime and dirt and abject terribleness, as was the curse of cities. This was where she’d grown up, and it was probably where she’d die, and she liked it that way. Sklonda was not a wanderer-- she was rooted and firm, and if she didn’t like where she was, she’d fix it before getting uprooted. Sklonda liked her coffee black and she liked to drink it in the mornings. She was twenty-seven, in her prime, and terribly bored.

In a smoky bar, Sklonda Gukgak, unofficial slash official PI, took a long drag of a cigarette and was silent. She watched the game on TV, scoffing as the Bed Sox lost miserably against the Blankee’s, and sighed, signalling the bartender for another drink. As he slammed down a beer in front of her, she felt a person slide into the seat next to her.

“Miss Gukgak, how strange to see you all alone here,” Pok said. “A beautiful lady such as yourself ought not to be without company.”

“A beautiful lady such as myself ought not to be without _intelligent_ company,” she shot back wryly. “Know where I could find some conversation worth my time?” As she spoke, Sklonda scanned his face, clocking the bruises on his cheek and healing split lip. She’d seen him in better shape and the same spirits as always, a firecracker of a goblin and certainly one who seemed to think more with his dick than his brain most times. She liked him and he was fun and they had a good time being friends and Nothing More, because one couldn’t trust a man like Pok to be reliable as far as you could throw him. 

“Sklonda, I’m hurt!” He exclaimed, gesturing blithely at the beat up face on his face. “Have you no sympathy for the weary, the wounded and extremely handsome and intelligent, the wretched souls watching their favorite baseball team get creamed?”

She let herself hum a moment, a contemplative frown overtaking her. “No,” she said, succinctly.

“Worth a shot. Lemme buy you a drink?” He grinned up at her from where he was half-slumped over the bar, waving lazily for the bartender and almost knocking over a bowl of peanuts. Sklonda reached out a hand to steady the bowl before affectionately patting Pok’s head.

“If you can get your wallet out, sure. I’d appreciate that.” He was an idiot who went away for weeks at a time with no explanation, and she was Not a Fan of him crashing into her life every so often, like he always thought he’d be able to get her attention no matter what. Mostly she was Not a Fan of how he was right.

“How’s Kalina, by the way? Haven’t seen her around in a while.” When the bartender appeared to not notice his haphazard waves, Sklonda made another small gesture, at which point Pok took over, smiling sweetly up at the burly flannel-clad bartender.

“Kalina is wonderful and enigmatic as ever. I haven’t seen her in a while, though. She kind of comes in and out of my life.” He raised a hand. “C’est la vie, I say. What’s the use in chasing after someone who doesn’t want to be caught?”

That reminded her of someone. She tried not to sigh. “She hasn’t been hanging around here either.” 

She paused. “What’ve you been up to, Pok? You always come back to me a little more bruised than before.” She ruffled his hair again, frowning. 

“You miss me, Sklon?” He sat up and grinned. At her glare, he continued, “Don’t be shy, I missed you too. You’re my favorite girl. All those nights I was away in Frostheim or the Swamps of Ruin, wondering if I’d make it out of the cold to get back to old Bastion City, the only thing that kept me warm was the thought of you, all alone, probably killing a man in cold blood. A spy’s work is never done.” He leaned heavily on Sklonda, resting his head on her shoulder. She shrugged him off, rolling her eyes.

“All right, Romeo, keep your secrets. That spiel ever work for you?” She took a long pull from her beer as Pok stole her cigarette, putting it out in a nearby ashtray. “You’re paying me back for that.”

He shot her a winning smile. “I’m paying you back in preventing lung disease, darling.”

“Gee, thanks.” They lapsed into silence then, Sklonda wincing at the TV, Pok watching the patrons of the bar. She wondered if his eye had caught onto the woman who looked a little like Kalina, and if it made him miss her too. Their silence was nice, though. It was peaceful in the same way their mindless banter soothed her frayed nerves, made her feel like she could be witty and mean with someone who could take it all and throw it back at her. They were a sweet team, she thought.

An hour passed in similar silence, interrupted only by gentle ribbing about the other’s favorite team and small talk about the previous few weeks. She liked it because it was nothingness, because it was the easy unimportance of a conversation that came with enjoying someone’s presence alone.

They walked out, Pok having insisted on picking up the tab. She didn’t quite mind, thinking about the shitty apartment she’d be going back to. The two of them started walking to the subway together, as they usually did on outings like this. It was nice, she thought, to have another friend whose life was kind of a mess, who lived in a shitty part of a fucked up city and didn’t seem to be able to get themselves out of scrapes despite being 4 feet tall. 

“Sklonda,” Pok began, fiddling with his jacket cuffs. “You ever thought about the future?” He looked out at the street where few cars raced past. It was empty and yet the city thrummed with noise. Somewhere in the background, Sklonda could hear music being played and someone fighting with their partner. There was probably someone getting stabbed at that very moment, too.

“I’m always thinking about the future. You know, it might surprise you, but I’m not really a “live in the moment” type of person.” He let out a cut off little laugh, as if he’d begun laughing and forgotten why by the end. She glanced at him, frowning.

“Are you-- are you okay? Really okay, I mean?” She didn’t know when things had gotten so wonky. In the blink of an eye, things had gone sideways in such a subtle way. It was awkward and stilted now, when things had flowed so easily before. They walked next to each other, only sneaking glances when the other wasn’t looking, a few feet apart in the light of a cloudy night sky. 

Pok pulled out a coin and began playing with it, smiling grimly. “Never better, darlin’.” _Bullshit,_ she thought. 

As she opened her mouth to reply, a gunshot rang out. Wide-eyed, they looked at each other for a moment. Then the two of them ran off in the direction of the sound. Sklonda had her gun out before she skidded to a stop, Pok not far behind. On the ground was a half-elf bleeding out and no one else to be found.

“You have any healing spells?” he asked breathlessly, looking down at the man. He was groaning, sweaty and almost wired. He had a hand over his abdomen, wet and darkening, and clearly wasn’t ‘with it.’

She frowned, looking around the area with her gun cocked. “He looks like he’s dying, Pok. I don’t have anything for that.” She sighed. “You take the feet, I’ll take the head?”

They dragged the man out, Pok rushing to a paycrystal as Sklonda waited, looking down at a man who was almost lucid. He was mumbling too quiet for her to hear as she helped apply pressure to the wound.

There was something in his hand. She unclenched his hand and wrenched it out, a crumpled, bloodstained piece of paper-- the only words on it were an address, the location they were at that moment. She heard Pok’s footsteps coming and shoved the paper in her pocket, pressing down harder on the wound. They stayed like this, two goblins and a man on the verge of death, until the ambulance arrived.

*  
Pok slept over at her apartment that night, taking the lumpy couch with whatever blankets she could rustle up. Her place was drafty and small, and the sounds of other tenants could always eke in no matter how hard she tried. Kids could always be heard running overhead, neighbors next door never seemed to turn off their TV, and she was pretty sure there was a mouse in the walls. It wasn’t easy getting to bed, but Sklonda usually could. That night she could hear Pok’s breath eventually even out mere feet away, a sound she’d gotten used to and, despite herself, found comforting. As an ambulance rushed by, bathing the room in blue and red light, Sklonda knew she wouldn’t be falling asleep.

He always fell asleep so easily, knocked out as her mind raced and she tried not to pace the floor, her usual habit on nights like these. Hours passed as she ran over the few facts she had-- a murder with no one around. A gunshot. A middle aged half-elf. No name and no information. A location, which meant a meeting, most likely. A ransom or a drop off or a drug deal, or something. A crowded area and a body left there, which meant the culprit probably wanted the body found. And nothing else she could place. Before she’d known it, she was pacing the tiny kitchenette, padding softly back and forth. Bastion City was always like this, crime and kindness going hand in hand. It angered her to think of all the travesties that went unacknowledged and unnoticed, all the cruelties no one was around to see. 

“Sklon?” Pok’s head poked up over the couch, green eyes peering at her. “If you’re not going to sleep, I’ll take the bed.” She breathed out a laugh and poured a cup of water for herself.

“No, I'm definitely taking the bed. Just up for a-- midnight snack,” she said, waving the water a little pathetically.

“Your midnight snack is… water at 3 am?” He asked wryly. She nodded, watching as he began to get up. Pok grabbed a cup from the cabinet and began filling it with water. He clinked it against hers, rubbing his eyes. She watched him take a drink and stroll around her kitchenette, worrying her lip.

He sighed, making his way back to her. “You never got used to watching someone killed, huh.” He pulled himself onto the counter, swinging his legs softly as he looked down at her.

“And you did?” He shrugged.

“You can’t help what’s out of your hands. That sounds bad but… I know you. You’re looking for everything you don’t know, and there’s only so much you can do.” A freshly awoken Pok was something she often marvelled at and hated in equal amounts. He was blunt and perceptive to a fault, but he was unself-conscious in a way she liked, hair sticking up in a tangled mess, squinting at everything because his contacts were out.

She looked at him. “So am I just supposed to let it go, Pok?”

“What I’m saying is that, if he is dead… you can’t bring this guy back. You know? You gotta make your peace with it. And that means you can’t stay up all night pacing.” He jumped off the counter. “Come on, if you want, I’ll cuddle you till you fall asleep.”

She half-heartedly rolled her eyes. “You just want the bed, asshole. Go ahead of me, I’m just gonna finish this.” She held up her water and he held open his arms, walking backwards to the couch.

Sklonda took her time finishing off her water, watching Pok slowly begin to drift off. By the time she made her way back he’d laid down, on the verge of sleeping even with his eyes open. She climbed into bed and he said softly, “Offer’s always open if you want.”

“In your dreams,” she said, but he was asleep, and she was in her bed, considering what would’ve happened if she’d taken his offer seriously.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me @repressionattic on tumblr <3


End file.
